


Muscle Memory

by claritylore



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Dark Will, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Sleepwalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claritylore/pseuds/claritylore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Discovering the identity of the Chesapeake Ripper nearly cost Will his life and now Hannibal Lecter is on the run. Will arrives home from hospital to find a disk of videos has been posted to him, of sessions with Hannibal he cannot remember, which change everything he thought he knew about himself and his former friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 08-11-12

Will steps through the door of his home with a heavy gait. The house is cold and silent. There are no warm, happy, tail-wagging dogs rushing to greet him. A few are with Alana. The rest have already been rehomed.

After nearly three months in hospital, and with an extensive course of drugs and physiotherapy ahead of him to restore him to the way he was prior to being nearly gutted, and battling encephalitis from a hospital bed, there is no way to cope with dogs yet. He knows he will have to wait until he is more functional. It still aches not to see them.

Will flicks on the lights and stumbles forward. He has a pile of mail from his mailbox under his arm. Though most has been sorted through, there is still a small pile left for him to check through.

He sits at his table, eager to find a way to fill the silence that envelopes him. He reads some mail, putting a few bills aside and trashing the junk mail. The final item is a small square white package with a Baltimore postmark. Curious, he opens it out and lets a clear jewel case containing a single CD clatter to the table. It has no marks on it, but the ring burns on the back that shine under his light suggest there is content.

Will searches out his laptop. It's been a while since he's used it, so he can't entirely remember where it is. When he finds it, in his bedroom, it's actually dusty on top.

He brings it into his kitchen and sets it down on his table. Will pauses before putting the mysterious disk in, but in the end, he has to know what it is.

It loads up and a folder of videos pops up. There are no preview thumbnails and none have names. They are all numbered. Will realises, almost instantly, that they are dates.

He opens up the first video, named 11-08-12 and is startled by the image that pops up, of a place he is trying very hard to forget now. It is the room in which Dr Hannibal Lecter had thrust a scalpel into his belly and pulled it upwards to try and kill him; the place he'd finally let the scales of friendship fall from his eyes and listened to his subconscious at it screamed out that the man he had trusted so implicitly was the Chesapeake Ripper.

The video is Dr Lecter's office. The angle isn't high, it's at about the right level for a camera on a tripod. Lecter himself is seated in his customary work chair, some sort of remote in his hand, pointed towards the camera, apparently to automate it turning on the recording. There is no one in the concurrent chair opposite him.

"Will," he calls, to somewhere out of shot. "Please come and sit down."

Will grows tense, the sudden realisation of what he is seeing hitting him unexpectedly. He has no memory at all of any of his sessions being recorded.

Lecter pauses, and then tries again. "Will, please. I know you are listening to me. Sit down."

He sees himself wander into shot, looking very strange and uncoordinated. His likeliness stands in the space between the two chairs, looking down at Dr Lecter for a long moment, before stumbling back into the chair and landing on it.

"You have entered a dissociative state and come to my office again. This is getting very frequent." He nods across to the camera. "I am going to start making recordings for you, so you are more aware of what has transpired. Do you understand me?"

Will watches himself twitch but there is no audible answer.

"I know you can speak. Tell me, Will, what have you come for?"

"Nm.. um... flies."

"Flies?"

"Everywhere. Don't feel safe."

Dr Lecter nods. Will watches his expression, finding the inscrutable blankness he has perfected a great deal more chilling now that he knows just what the man is capable of. "Do you feel safe here?" he asks, gently.

His likeness in the video blinks a few times. "Hannibal," he sighs, and Will finds the sound of his own voice saying his first name odd. For a moment, it seems as though Video Will has awoken, but a floppy turn of his head betrays the impression. "Make it stop."

"Where do these flies congregate?"

"Dark swarms, all over my head. Watching."

"What has brought them to you?"

Will sees his own face crumple. "Bad thoughts." He is fascinated seeing this; not a single part of this video, which has been sent to him by a fugitive on the run, exists in his memory.

He quickly counts the number of videos in the folder and shudders. There are seven videos to get through. And somehow he just knows that they are all going to be of him.

Video Will takes in a deep breath. "I'm afraid," he whines.

"Are these bad thoughts yours, or are they from the minds of the killers you have profiled?"

The question taxes him and Video Will stands up, clumsily, trying to pace but not making it very far. He turns to Hannibal again and stares at him, eyes blown wide.

"Will, what are you afraid of?"

Will watches with an odd sense of disconnection as his video counterpart slides down to his knees in front of Hannibal and clings onto him, resting his head in his lap.

"Me," he whispers, in a voice barely audible on the video. "Me."

If it weren't so surprising, he might have laughed at the discomfort in Dr Lecter's visage. The man frowns and looks down, shoulders tensing at first. After a few seconds, Will watches him relax and run his fingers into his patient's hair in a surprisingly affectionate way, like a father soothing his child. A curious smile descends on his lips.

"Do you feel safer now?" Dr Lecter asks.

Will's video counterpart seems to snuggle in even more. "Hannibal," he sighs, and yet again Will finds it very strange to hear himself use his former psychiatrist's first name. Even though they had become friends of sorts, he hadn't ever crossed that professional boundary, at least not while conscious.

"What time is it?" Dr Lecter asks. "Come on Will, ground yourself."

Video Will sighs. "Night time."

The doctor chuckles. "Not exactly what I was asking." He strokes into his hair again and his heads tilts forward. Will frowns at the screen... _is he smelling me?_ he wonders. 

"What am I going to do with you?" Dr Lecter ponders, fondly. 

That makes Will cringe. He is acting like a dog leaning into its master. It's incredibly disconcerting.

The video ends there, abruptly.

He stares at the empty screen for a long time, trying to fathom what he's just witnessed. He feels... teased. Will had known he was losing time still, and he had woken up a few times either en route to Dr Lecter's practice or home in Baltimore, or actually there. But he could recall no instances of videos being discussed, nor occasions when his psychiatrist betrayed any awkward incidents to him. This is all bizarre.

Will turns his gaze to the next video and feels a knot form in the pit of his stomach. There has to be a reason Lecter has sent him this collection of edits in particular. Whatever it is, he just knows he isn't going to like it.

He takes a deep breath and opens up the next video.


	2. 08-20-12

The second video begins much as before, only this time the sleepwalking Will is not sitting down. He is fidgeting, pacing a little, and then returning to the spot between the two chairs repeatedly.

"Will, you are distressed," Lecter says, voice even and impassive. He is sitting in his chair, one leg crossed over his knee, his hands resting over each other in his lap, gauging Will. "I cannot help you if you do not explain what is troubling you." He pauses again, but there is no response. "Are you afraid, Will?"

That seems to get through to Video Will. He stops the nervous fidgeting and stares down in his direction. "Hannibal.... You let me call you Hannibal."

"I did indeed give you that permission," Lecter responds with a gentle smile. It's a look Will doesn't really recognise; more intimate and private than he can recall ever seeing in the man's countenance before.

Will's mouth presses into a thin line. Clearly, these videos are mere highlights. There are other occasions, conversation, meetings he can't remember and which might also have been recorded.

"You're my friend," Video Will sighs, still swaying with an uncoordinated gait. He takes a step closer to Dr Lecter and clumsily reaches for his tie, drawing it out of his jacket like a snake.

Lecter crooks an eyebrow but doesn't seem alarmed by the odd action. He allows his half-conscious patient to hoist him to his feet.

Video Will looks at him with an odd curiousness that comes across as searching but unfocused. Will realises he is tensing up all over watching this odd display. His gut doesn't like where this is going.

"Do you wish to tell me something?" Dr Lecter asks, softer than usual. 

Will's jaw squarely falls slack the moment his sees himself throw his arms around Lecter's shoulders and kiss the man.

He immediately snaps out of his chair and lands on his ass in the floor in front of the table bearing the offending laptop. Though he is dimly aware of pain in his stomach from his scarred flesh, he can't quite take his eyes of the screen.

Dr Lecter stills at first, but Will definitely sees a slight tilt of his head, as though he is participating. They slot together, mouths lightly parting to allow tongues to touch, eyes closed, like genuine lovers. Then Lecter grimaces and pushes Video Will back, away from him.

"You bit me," he gasps and frowns. He dabs at his lip, tiny splotches of blood coming away with his fingers.

Video Will grins. His lips are shiny and red and it makes Will hold a breath in. He can't quite understand what he's seeing.

"I think I should drive you home," Lecter says, calmly, though his expression is more guarded and yet, oddly, quite curious.

Will remains on the floor for a while after the video concludes. It can't be real. Hannibal Lecter is a murderer... the Chesapeake Ripper. He tried to kill him with a scalpel for God's sake.

None of what he is seeing makes any sense. Will has never been with a man in his life. He can't get that image, of his unconscious self throwing himself into the arms of Hannibal Lecter of all people, off his retinas. He can't even begin to fathom the thought process behind it, or why he would have bitten him in that moment.

Will finally scrambles to his feet and scurries over to his phone. He picks up the receiver and contemplates calling Jack Crawford.

_Six more videos. What if... what if there are worse things to come?_ he thinks. The idea of his boss, his colleagues, the whole FBI seeing... something... it fills him with dread. He's never been much for exhibitionism and, regardless, he doesn't even know what's on the other videos.

He puts the receiver down again slowly and floats over to the laptop, knowing he has to watch more. He has to know what happened.

What else he has done.

Will clicks onto the next video with a nervous tremor.


	3. 09-01-12

"Will, I want you to count to five with me. With each number, you will become more lucid and aware."

Video Will is sitting in the chair opposite Dr Lecter, hands resting on the arms, head lolling forwards, eyes dimly tracing shadows on the floor between them.

"Five..." Lecter begins, alone.

After a moment, Will's half-aware counterpart catches on. "Five."

"Four, three, two, one," they chant together.

The doctor looks at his patient with a tilted head, searching for some sign that his attempt has worked. His target doesn't seem to be any more awake than he was though.

"What..." he starts.

"The time is 7:09, I'm in Hannibal's office and my name is..." Video Will rambles, suddenly, looking up. "My name is... My name is... Hobbs."

A dark shadow of concern crosses his therapist's face. "No."

"No, it's Will... Will... Lecter?"

That dims the concern and causes a smirk to appear. "As undoubtedly lovely as that sounds, your name is Will Graham."

"Yes."

"Do you feel more lucid?"

"No."

"What are you feeling, Will?"

Video Will breathes in heavily and snorts his breath back out through his nose. "Your office is floating and... my stomach tingles."

"In what way?"

Video Will stares at Lecter for a long, uncomfortable while. His expression is unreadable and it unsettles Will, who watches, transfixed by the exchange.

"What is the source of this tingle you describe?" How the doctor manages to maintain his usual air of general disinterest, Will simply cannot fathom. 

Video Will hangs his head again. Oddly, he starts to smile as he presses his hands over his belly. "You know," he mutters.

"I'm afraid I don't," Lecter indulges.

"You always smell me. You know." One of Will's hands is creeping downwards, over the trace of a bulge in his pants.

Will holds his breath, now watching Hannibal closely, hoping against hope that the highly embarrassing action isn't noticed. But then Video Will hums in his throat and it all seems, somehow, a lot more obvious. 

When Lecter notices, he shuffles in his chair and picks at the handkerchief in his pocket. "Will, focus in on what you are feeling inside. Not the physical sensation," he commands, studiously not looking up, doing anything to avoid engaging. 

"Safe." Video Will sighs and pulls his belt open. "I feel lost... then, here. Safe here. Hannibal," he says, breathily, and the rubbing starts to be accompanied by a slow roll of his hips. His head falls back and his eyes slide closed. "Hannibal." The way the name hisses from his lips makes it sound filthy.

Lecter has started to watch now, gaze pinned, all proprietary abandoned because he can't seem to look away any more than Will can. The doctor's arm eventually moves to rest right over his groin, hiding the shade of his obvious response.

"Will," he says and swallows hard. 

"Mm," Video Will purrs and finally pulls himself free of his pants, his hardness springing out and rolling into his hand. "Hannibal," he gasps as he tugs himself.

Hannibal lightly pulls at his collar and shifts a little in his chair. "How long have you harboured sexual thoughts about me, Will?"

Video Will doesn't respond. 

Will considers switching the video off, shutting it down, maybe smashing the laptop and then driving away to ravish Alana or Beverley or, heck, Freddie Lounds; anyone vaguely female shaped. But something inside him is tingling, a muscle memory he has had no awareness of before. His eyes are fixed on Hannibal as he hears the name stuttered out in his own voice.

"Hannibal. Hmm, fuck," Video Will mumbles, peeking at Hannibal with his head still rolled back.

Lecter has grown silent, flustered, but also clearly intrigued and definitely aroused himself. Will hadn't given much thought to his former doctor's sexuality. This is all answering questions he has never before thought to ask, or at least his conscious self hasn't. 

There is obviously another side of himself that he's never been aware of on display here. Will genuinely can't recall harbouring any inappropriate thoughts about Hannibal, but all of this was months ago. Some part of him had sought him out, over and over. That echo was reverberating through him now, some essence of a feeling returning, like a word on the tip of his tongue. 

Hannibal's gaze flicks to the camera, briefly. He is deliberating, Will thinks. He then watches the man opposite him again, no longer hiding his interest.

Video Will's movements and groans are getting more urgent. "H-Hannibal... gonna... mmm."

Lecter stands and steps forward as Video Will curls into himself and comes into his hand with a heavy gasp. Hannibal calmly bends on one knee in front of Will and provides his handkerchief for him to wipe his hand clean. 

Instead, Video Will looks to him with an indecent grin and leans forward, throwing his arms around Hannibal bonelessly. They topple backwards, landing on the floor together with a soft thud. Video Will is slotted against Hannibal's body exactly, chin resting on his collarbone, smothering him. He clings on, smearing the arm of Lecter's suit with sticky white.

In no time at all, he has snuggled in and appears to have fallen asleep, or at least into another level of his subconsciousness.

"Will," Hannibal murmurs, grimly, but still kisses the top of his head and gives himself away. He looks to the camera again, expression growing serious and concentrated. His gaze wanders as he allows his arms to settle around the man on top of him, stroking his back absently. He appears to fall deeply into his thoughts.

The video goes black.

Will rubs his chin, the stubble burn grounding him. Any sense of embarrassment is fading with curiosity over Dr Lecter's reaction. The affection he has displayed in the videos is so completely at odds with everything he knows of him now; the brutal murderer, the man who gutted him and ran. 

The house is growing colder as the daylight begins to fade outside. Will considers going to bed early and resting his weary bones. He is so tired already.

Against all his better judgement, he clicks onto the next video instead.


	4. 09-07-12

The angle is about the same as always. Everything seems much the same. Will has never before noticed just how closed off Hannibal's realm was; a void of sunlight, measured in exact colours and shapes, an abstract and static order permeating the very air, with no real sense of time or even place to be discerned. 

He sees himself again, leaning against the desk at the centre of the shot, looking disheveled but perhaps slightly more focused than usual. His gaze is towards the camera, or just off to the side of it a little. Will recognises his expression; it's the one he has seen in the mirror first thing after waking up, tense from a nightmare, eyes rimmed with red, but with a slight edge of something else he can't yet fathom.

All is still and silent for a long moment. Will feels a chill of anticipation. 

"Alright, I have set the video camera recording again," Lecter's voice ripples across the recording, loud and clear. "Will, your actions this evening are becoming concerning."

Video Will barely reacts to his words.

"Are you aware of where you are?"

"Home," Video Will snaps.

The doctor steps into view from behind the camera, moving closer with a curious reticence and standing at a distance from him. "You said that earlier."

"I'm home. You're the intruder. Not me."

"Why am I the intruder, Will?"

Video Will pushes the pile of books off of the desk, like a child having a tantrum. "Rearranging my things. My... head." He picks up one of Hannibal's drawings and rips it in two, abruptly. "Rip rip rip."

There is a tense moment. Hannibal straightens his back and glances back at the camera, uncertainly.

Will is jolted with an odd realisation; had he, somehow, in his unconscious waking state, known Hannibal's true identity long before he'd actually figured it out? Was that even possible?

Video Will crumples a little. "You hurt," he whines, and pulls at his shirt collar. "Flies," he gasps and looks up, tracing invisible things with his eyes.

"Will, I..."

"Help me," he sobs, and holds his hand out towards him in a pleading gesture.

The doctor deliberates for a long moment before stepping forward and accepting it. The action proves to be a mistake, as Video Will spins him around to the side of the desk and pushes him against it, roughly. He pulls at his doctor's jacket and practically tears it off him, throwing it aside without any care. He yanks Hannibal's tie out of his shirt, leaving it pulled low around his neck, and turn rips into his shirt, forcing him out of it with no regard for its preservation.

All the while Hannibal allows him free reign, apparently curious to find out what is going through his mind, where his actions are leading. Will understands his reticence to intervene to some extent; he is also feeling very curious about the sudden switch.

Next, the sleepwalking Will pulls Hannibal's shirt over his shoulders and off, followed by his vest, and then unbuckles his belt. He pushes his pants and his boxes down his legs to his calves, exposing him, and Will feels a twist of embarrassment in his gut again. Fortunately, Hannibal displays no such feeling, standing still and watching his patient, as though participating in some very odd form of therapy.

"What is your intention?"

Video Will moves away, rubbing his face, some note of discomfort being betrayed. He stumbles a little, not quite all there, and seems to have to snap himself back into whatever nightmare he is caught inside.

Hannibal remains exactly where he has been placed, to the right of the desk, captured in profile on the video, only twisting aside to watch his patient impassively.

"Will? You really do not seem well."

In an odd and barely coordinated movement, Video Will suddenly spins back toward Hannibal and clears the desk with a sweep of his arm. He moves around so he is directly in front of him, in the side periphery of the video.

His hand slides down Hannibal's bare arm and he takes possession of it. "Help me here," he mutters, and presses Hannibal's hand to his groin.

At last, some of the wall of impassivity in the psychiatrist's face begins to crumble away. "What do you want?" Hannibal asks, voice cracking a little.

If Will didn't know any better, he might have believed his expression of intimidation and uncertainty. Yet he knows it isn't possible. Hannibal is a cold blooded killer, a manipulator. He has to be playing a game here.

Video Will moves a little closer and grabs the tie still hanging loosely around Hannibal's neck. He yanks it to pull the man closer and kisses him, roughly. As the kiss blooms, passionately, his other hand slides upwards and he tightens the tie, more and more, until Hannibal is pulling back to gasp for breath.

When Hannibal tries to pull away entirely, Video Will slaps him across the cheek and uses his thighs to pin him against the desk. "No," he growls. "No walls. My house."

Hannibal's movements become slow and deliberate as he loosens the tie again and stares into Video Will, like whatever game is being played has suddenly grown serious. Will is paralysed with fear by what he is seeing on the video now; the darkness suddenly draining into Dr Lecter's expression.

However, Video Will seems to have no such fear. He smiles as he takes Hannibal's wrists in his hands and pins them behind his back, arms wrapping around his near-naked body to do so. He has his nose against the pressure point of Hannibal's neck, and when he licks at his skin there, the sensation seems to make Hannibal shiver. The doctor tilts his head, eyes closed, lips parted, losing himself in Video Will's ministrations.

The calm moment erupts in movement as Video Will spins Hannibal and practically throws him, belly down, onto the desk, so hard his hips had to have been bruised. Oddly, the larger man grunts in surprise but doesn't push back or fight to get back up. He lies, passively, face turned towards the video, eyes glassy.

As Will's likeness leans over Hannibal, one hand pressing his head down against the surface, the other fumbling with his belt, Will quickly smashes at the pause button on the video and looks away, gasping for air.

It's too much. He can't watch this.

He scurries to the sink of his kitchen and gulps down some cold water from the tap. He is shaking all over, his world spinning around. Everything he is, every part of Will Graham, is wailing in protest at what he's seeing; he cant be that person. He simply can't be.

Will looks back as he hears sounds and realises that the video hasn't paused. He must have missed the button. When the tap is shut off the room is filled with gasps and grunts and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

He pads across the floor, back towards the laptop, unable to watch and unable to look away. He sees himself fucking Hannibal, hard, pulling at his hair with one hand and bracing himself on the desk with the other. Hannibal is biting his lip, eyes closed, half grunting, half crying out with every thrust. Will truly feels nauseous, until he realises that Hannibal's arm is now pushed under his hip against the desk, and he is stroking himself, urgently.

_He liked it_ , Will realises, his cheeks hot like pokers.

Shame erupts through his veins when he feels himself getting hard, a tingling burn coming out of nowhere and hitting him in his gut almost as painfully as that scalpel had. He needs to fight his body's response to the video for his own sanity, but it won't go away.

He manages to look at least half aside as Video Will cries out, more and more, thrusting harder, lost in the act, but not for long. Something about the sound Hannibal is making tunes into a part of his psyche he has never connected to before and compels him to look. When Hannibal grunts and gasps, apparently coming, he groans in the back of his throat. Some part of him knows that sound and desires it with a devastating want that knows no logic or boundaries.

Will watches his video counterpart as he stills and finally collapses against Hannibal, kissing along his spine as he slowly rotates his hips through the aftershocks.

Without staying to see the end of the video, Will wanders out of the kitchen and into his living room in a daze. He doesn't even switch the light on, just collapses into a chair and stares at the wall, desperately willing his erection away.

Will feels the wetness on his cheeks before he even realises he's crying, caught in a tempest he doesn't have the strength to fight anymore, while slowly, gracelessly, all his beliefs about who he is dimly die in his chest.


	5. 09-10-12

The next video is different to the rest. It starts in a new light and a new place, one Will doesn't recognise. The camera has been placed aside of a large bed, an open door on the other side, a faint nightlight is on in the corner just out of shot, throwing the room into a dim bluish light. There is a figure in the bed, sleeping.

This is Hannibal's bedroom.

The small timestamp at the bottom of the video is racing forwards. There is no audio because of this. Will spots a figure in the darkness of the doorway, stumbling and swaying. Only when it steps briefly into the light does it become clear that it's him. It's 2:30am, and he's in Hannibal's house.

When the video hits 3:15am, he leaves. Hannibal hasn't stirred.

The video goes dark for a few seconds, and then another similar one appears. Once again, it's nighttime and the video is on fastforward.

This time Video Will makes it into the room, still swaying but also watching Hannibal in his bed. Will notes that he's in his boxers and an old t-shirt, so he had to have been in bed himself, driven over in his sleepwalking state and used Hannibal's spare key to get inside. Video Will repeatedly rubs his face and, after about half an hour, he stumbles out. The video cuts out to darkness again.

Will can't yet fathom the purpose of this montage. He checks the name of the video, 09-10-12, and notes that it's three nights on from the last, though it seems to include some highlights from inbetween.

The next insertion of video into the compilation is again at high speed, but this one slows down around the 3am mark. Will sees himself in the doorway, strange and hunched, like a monster coming in in the middle of the night. As before, he slowly wanders inside and stands at the side of the bed, looking down, frowning and swaying. Even in the dull twilight blue lighting, the sheen of perspiration on his forehead is obvious.

This time, Hannibal stirs and sees him. "Will," he mumbles, voice rough from sleep. When there is no answer, he sits up. After a quick glance towards the video camera he has set up, presumably to check it's still on, he continues. "This is the fourth time you've come to me in the middle of the night. What's on your mind?"

Video Will rubs his face. When his hand falls, his expression is twisted and tears are falling onto his cheeks.

"Please Will," Hannibal says, "talk to me."

"I killed you," he gasps at a choke.

"No. I'm still here. You're dreaming."

The sleepwalker shakes his head and balls his fists. "You're not here. You can't be."

Hannibal tilts his head and smiles, gently. "I am," he responds with a sigh. "Why do you believe that you have killed me?"

"I... I hurt you and..." he starts to sob more freely, "I'm a monster."

"Will," Hannibal purrs and throws his covers aside. He extends a hand to him. "I know what monsters are. You are not one of them."

After a moment, the hand is accepted, and Video Will practically falls in, settling against him. It seems to calm him almost immediately; sinking in against the silk pajamas, breathing Hannibal in. Although he is looking almost into the camera, he doesn't seem to be aware of it. His eyes are far distant.

"Aren't I?" he asks.

It has taken hours of contemplation for Will to return to his kitchen and continue watching the videos. He has searched through his memories to discern anything, anything at all, that might ground what he has seen on tape in reality as he knows it. Everything from that time is a muddle, his brain too cooked by the disease he'd been suffering from to allow for any sense of certainty about anything.

Despite it all, he has to admire the simplicity of the solution that Dr Lecter had devised to clear his muddled memories; show reality to a man out of touch with it, through a medium that doesn't lie. Will can't decide if it's brilliant or cruel, and he definitely can't discern whether Hannibal had always intended to capture a lot more than a few simple therapy sessions for him.

"Hush now," Hannibal says, holding him in his arms, affectionately. "You didn't hurt me."

"The blood..."

"I was unprepared. However, I assure you, I am fine. I am alive, and well, and here with you now."

Video Will rolls on top of him, hands bracing either side of his shoulders, head tilted downwards as he stares into his face, searching, yearning to confirm that he is really there. What happens next almost seems inevitable to Will now, even if it seemed impossible and unthinkable only a day ago.

Will bites into a cracker as his video counterpart lunges into a kiss with Hannibal. The crunch sound reverberates through his brain painfully, but it's the only thing left in his pantry after someone, Alana presumably, cleared it of almost anything which might rot during his convalescence. He's grateful that it momentarily drowns out the sounds on the video.

"I feel like I'm fading," Video Will breathes into the kiss, and it startles Will somewhat. He recalls speaking those exact words to Hannibal in a more lucid session of therapy. "I'm afraid."

"You have said that to me before whilst in this state of mind. Is it still your perception of yourself which causes this fear?"

Video Will sits back, resting on Hannibal's thighs. "The things I see..." He unbuttons the black silk pajama top beneath him, unfastening it bit by bit from the neck down. When all the buttons are released, he spreads the sides and traces his finger down the centre of Hannibal's chest. "I dream of cutting. Here." He runs it down to his bellybutton. "Here." Then he places his hands on the man's ribs and slides them up, over his chest, over his collarbones, up to his neck. "Here." Video Will is deep in concentration as he does this, and Will holds his breath with the way his hands close around Hannibal's throat; he looks as though he is ready to strangle him.

Again, Hannibal makes no move to stop him. Whether it's out of trust or out of curiosity, Will simply cannot tell. " _One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,_ " Hannibal says, ponderously. "The act of murder is a very intimate thing. Perhaps the insights of so many killers, whom you have understood so completely they have become part of you, have become mixed with your feelings toward me. You have become aggressive, sexually." He pauses to assess whether his words are having any impact. "You do not wish to harm me, Will. You are fighting against your own desires, desires you are unable to come to terms with alone."

The hands lightly caught around his throat slowly release. One hand slides up and over his chin, and Video Will hooks two fingers into Hannibal's mouth. He accepts them, readily. "The act of murder," Video Will whispers, echoing him, "Mmm. I see the blood in your throat."

Will feels hot all over watching this. The question of whether he had figured out that Hannibal Lecter was the Chesapeake Ripper while in his non-lucid state, long before he'd connected the dots for real, is the main reason he is now watching these videos to the bitter end. It's like a bee buzzing in his ear that he can't reach to swat. He needs to understand its source.

Video Will reacts to a playful bite from Hannibal, snapping his fingers out of harms way. "Have a care, Will," the doctor warns with a seductive smirk. He then flips Will onto his back and settles between his legs, pinning his arms against the pillows above his head. "Beware of knowing things you are not ready to know."

Hannibal slithers down Video Will's body and pulls him free of his boxers, happily. He takes him fully into his mouth, earning a groan and a writhing jerk of his hips.

Will crosses his legs and winces. There is something really very frightening about seeing someone he knows to be a vicious cannibal taking his most intimate part into his mouth. He can't help but have a rather visceral reaction to the thought of it.

The shock factor of seeing himself with another man is starting to wear off, he's discovered. Even this new knowledge of how close he had actually been to Hannibal Lecter is starting to feel like something he knew all along, but had forgotten somehow. It's like filling in spaces in the tatters of his mind.

After sucking and teasing Video Will to a frenzy, Hannibal releases him with a pop, his lips glistening. "We can be whatever we want to be to each other. It doesn't need to hurt. Accept me as I am, as I accept you."

"Please," Video Will whines, clawing at his shoulders.

"What do you need?"

It takes a moment for him to vocalise whatever is twisting his face into concern. "Show me... who I am."

The doctor regards him closely, the shadow of decisions passing across his features. He turns back to the camera and smiles, as though communicating directly to the more lucid Will he knew would one day be watching it back. "This is who you are," he says, sending a shiver down Will's spine.

Clothes are removed on both sides and Hannibal retrieves a jar of something and a condom from his nightstand drawer. He settles on top of Video Will and kisses him, intensely, while his fingers disappear into the crease of his buttocks in an undulating motion. The half-awake version of Will clings onto his shoulders, his hips swaying with the movements, his face now betraying various sensations, ranging from discomfort to impatience.

In seemingly no time at all, Hannibal shifts positions and rolls the protection onto himself. With a coating of whatever substance is in the jar he retrieved added, he begins to press his hardness in, slowly, using gentle thrusts back and forth to reach further and further. "Let me in, Will," he purrs.

Will watches with no small amount of amazement, scarcely believing it is even possible to fit something that size in without pain or injury. Hannibal is a tall man, with long fingers and large feet, and everything about him is in proportion. Yet Video Will does not seem to be in any discomfort, he is welcoming every inch and holding on, legs wrapped around Hannibal's back tightly. Will wants to be repulsed, he really does, but all he feels is tingles of need in his belly again.

When at last Hannibal has slid fully home, he pauses to kiss along his jawline. "How do you feel?" he mutters into his ear.

"Impaled," Video Will responds, "on antlers and burning steel. Alive."

"Alive. Yes. The feast is life, Will, and so are we."

The rest of the crackers are abandoned beside the laptop, forgotten. Will is transfixed by the sight of their entwined bodies and the heat of heavy lovemaking, unable to prevent his own arousal at the sight. He is a very visual person, with an overdeveloped ability to elaborate on this most important sense. His imagination is on fire with the show he is watching; something he cannot remember but will now never be able to forget.

Hannibal is a great deal more gentle than Will knew he himself had been in the last video, and the doctor takes his time, building things up slowly and keeping constant vigilance as to the responses of his partner. The noises they make are tuning into some vault somewhere in Will's brain and threatening to pour something he isn't quite ready to experience out.

Or at least, that's what he thinks until things start to get rough. Video Will is scratching his fingernails along Hannibal's back and without warning, he grasps Hannibal's bottom lip in his teeth and bites down. Blood blooms between their mouths.

It doesn't slow Hannibal for a moment, indeed it seems to spur him on. He growls and kisses Video Will hard, blood smearing across their faces. Will flinches as the cannibal bites Will's tongue in response, causing a pained gasp, and more blood to flow.

A distant memory of waking up standing on his porch, blood on his lips from where he'd bitten his tongue in the night, bruised from some misadventure, comes back to Will. Only now he knows that isn't what actually happened. He'd been sore, really sore, inside and out, though of course hadn't connected any dots as to why.

Their blood is flowing freely together, mixed and lapped up with equal fervour, everything peaking to a feverish crescendo that Will knows he is going to be reliving in his dreams, or maybe his nightmares, for a while to come. What began gently has grown intense and rutting, both men gleaming with sweat and blood, pushing each other to a peak with a wild abandon, cresting loudly and without shame.

 _A feast indeed,_ the thought flows into Will's mind before he can hush it; a voice that doesn't quite belong to him, even though it speaks with his voice, the way the voices of killers whose designs he has deciphered sometimes burst free of him.

The video goes black and Will closes his eyes, trying to centre his thoughts. He focuses by reliving the moment he realised Hannibal Lecter was the Chesapeake Ripper all along in a moment of hysteria in his office.

He had arrived early to their session, leaving extra time out of fear he would lose some on the way, and Dr Lecter had asked him to remain put for a moment while he filed some paperwork from earlier sessions on the upper level. Will had idly looked at some of the drawings set aside on a table near the harpsichord, admiring them.

In fact, he now recalled noticing that one of them, a meticulously created drawing of a stag, had been torn in half and taped back together. At the time Will hadn't recalled anything about how that happened. That seems almost funny to him now.

He'd spotted a book set down next to them. It was a book of recipes written mostly in French. Flicking through it, he'd noticed a few things starred, recipes involving organ meat, and somehow, something clicked.

Will recalls Dr Lecter appearing behind him like a spectre, noticing and remarking on his interest in the book. Will had clumsily excused himself to the bathroom, with Hannibal's calculating eyes searing into him all the way. Once inside, he had made a panicked call to Jack Crawford.

He'd gone back into the office with his gun in his hand and his heart in his throat, intending to detain his doctor to allow time for the FBI to arrive.

He hadn't seen the scalpel coming at all. The man had been too quick, too strong, too cold. Will had tried to take a shot, but Hannibal had deflected it so that it only grazed his arm. He'd knocked Will against the ladder to the upper level without missing a beat, plunging that steel blade into his gut and pulling it up so quickly Will barely even felt it at first.

Hannibal had said something. He'd leaned over and whispered it into his ear, right before Will had slid down the ladder and hit the floor, consciousness fading away with his blood loss.

That sudden recollection sparks another faint echo memory and, somehow, Will knows exactly what's going to be on the next video.

He immediately feels sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal's quote, "One sees more devils than vast hell can hold", is from A Midsummer Night's Dream.


	6. 09-23-12

Will curls in on himself, fighting away the choked hiccups threatening to overwhelm him.

The sudden recollection of a session with Hannibal floats into his thoughts with deceptive benignity. He had been fully lucid and the meeting had been uneventful, save for the strange sense of unease he'd left with. He'd discussed the details of the Ripper's latest victim, expressing his certainty that it was that killer's work, despite the unusually messy way the body had been displayed. Dr Lecter had probed with questions about the tableau and Will had veered onto a discussion about how exhausted he was generally. And Hannibal had seemed, for want of a better word, irritated by the evasion.

Only now was he starting to understand. Two conversations had been taking place that evening. One had been him avoiding the detail of how he'd struggled to divine the thought processes and motives behind that particular murder. The other had been Hannibal carefully prodding at the thin veil between the memories of lucid Will, and the memories of non-lucid Will, hoping to find a tear.

The fact is, Will did know more about that murder than he had realised at the time. Small flashes are coming to him now, as they hadn't when visiting the crime scene with Jack Crawford and the rest of the unit. All that had happened then was an almighty mental block; he'd stared at that corpse in the woods, summoned a pendulum to his mind and saw... nothing. All he had been able to do was recount the most obvious steps and confirm that it was the Ripper, despite the slightly messy treatment of the body.

Will clicks on the sixth video and his heart sinks. Yes, this is the one... the video he'd taken himself.

It begins with the blurred image of an eye. It then moves out and the lens focus in on the man holding the camera, starring into it blankly. It's his face, wearing the dopey expression he has when he is caught in the twilight space of his waking nightmares. The corner of the video has a battery icon, indicating that it won't last too long and telling him that its use hadn't been planned for in this particular instance.

Little memories have started to hit Will, like paint being flicked onto a board, and this is one of them. He recalls yanking that camera off its tripod in Hannibal's office and taking it with them as they drove into the night. He even vaguely recalls mashing the buttons, unable to get it working several times before hitting the right combination.

"You should put that away now," Hannibal's voice comes across loudly, and the video image spins around towards him.

"I want... don't want... to forget anymore."

"I know." Hannibal's fond smile becomes more of a fond wince. "I would like nothing more for you to remember of your own accord. In fact, I hope tonight will help in that regard. However, it will be traumatic, Will. I do not think recording this will prove to be a good idea."

The camera momentarily lowers, focusing in on the bed of dead leaves and frost beneath their feet. Then he lifts it up again.

Hannibal shakes his head and sighs. "We will lose the daylight if we delay much longer," he says, and extends an arm to direct him forwards. Video Will stumbles ahead of him and the image shakes with each step he takes through the woods.

Soon a man comes into view, tied up like a sacrificial lamb and laid out on a long-dead tree stump. At first, he does not appear to be moving, a large U-shaped piece of metal, like a croquet hoop, hammered over his neck to keep him pinned down. But when Video Will comes close, the head suddenly turns with a shock of bloodshot eyes and the man begins to yell through his gag.

Hannibal comes back into shot and Will realises that his doctor is wearing some sort of plastic suit, fitted over his clothes exactly. He's also carrying a surgeon's bag. Although he can't remember any specifics about what is about to happen, Will can deduce that the bag contains all of the various implements they'd found and noted individually at the crime scene.

The man's name was Eric Oscar and he owned an antique furniture store in town, Will knew. He was recalled as a curmudgeonly, preening man with a track record of misreporting faults and not accepting returns by several customers. Though the specific connection was not deduced, he was a classic Ripper victim; the first they'd discovered in two years.

Only Will knows, in his bones, in the hollow space his soul used to occupy, that the scene was not truly Hannibal's painting. It was intended to be; he had made the selection, chosen the location, had made the preparations and had had every intention of taking this man's life. Hannibal had only intended to dip his toe into the black waters of this crumbling Will Graham of blood and violent desire by bringing him along to witness him in unleashed and truest form. He hadn't foreseen what was to happen next, anymore than Will had suspected he was capable of it.

Will is growing numb now. Too many fearful things have ignited behind his eyes. This insight is, he knows, the worst of all. Without this video, Will has half an idea that he might have been able to recover himself in time, to put away all thoughts of Hannibal Lecter, and find himself again.

This video changes everything and there is simply no way back now.

"Are you alright?" Hannibal checks, with a note of genuine concern.

"He is so... small," Video Will observes from behind the camera.

"This man is no man at all. He is worthless. There is no majesty or grace in him, no intelligence, no true humanity." Hannibal sets his bag down beside the tree stump and removes a long nail and a hammer. "The only meaningful contribution to this world he will ever make is to nourish the deserving."

Quick as a flash, and without warning, Hannibal pulls the tied up hands over his shoulders so hard they pop right out of their joints and he nails his wrists to the side of the truck, overlapped, his arms wrenched to an unnatural backwards angle relative to his body. The man screams and thrashes his head from side to side but Hannibal seems entirely unaffected by his distress. If anything, he reacts with distaste.

The camera wobbles aside momentarily and then regains focus on the target.

Hannibal crushes his hand over the man's mouth, hard, making a point of quietening him down. "What do you see?" he asks to the camera, reverently.

"Flies... great horns... a storm..." The voice is his and yet, at the same time, not his at all.

"This is my design, Will," Hannibal tells him, his eyes darker than he's ever seen them. Then the work begins.

Will's measly meal of crackers lands on the floor by his seat in a vague yellow splat.

He watches Hannibal hammering long nails, icepicks, pokers and all kinds of sharp metal objects into the man's thighs, methodical and strangely dispassionate. Blood is starting to pool around him, and as the camera moves closer, Will sees it run along the circular grooves of the tree trunk, creating an oddly beautiful pattern around the man's form.

"Hannibal," he hears his own voice penetrate the unnerving spectacle at a breathy whisper.

"What is it?"

The camera captures his hand as it reaches out to touch the blood soaking on the stump. Then, suddenly, the camera is dropped. It lands in the leaves and rolls in a tumble, unable to settle on the uneven surface.

A further exchange of words is had but it's muffled by the sound of leaves crackling and air whooshing past.

Will allows his eyes to slide closed and he peers through the cracks in the walls protecting his sanity. He sees blood everywhere, all over him; corpses mounted on the dead heads of stags, hanging in the air with skin sheered into strips, gutted and burning and half eaten away by mushrooms and hollowed out into the shape of strings; an amalgamation of all the darkest thoughts he's absorbed from serial killers bursting out at once. He vaguely recalls Hannibal urging caution... advising gloves... preparation... and he also recalls not listening.

With the video now obscured, everything falls to sound. The man is screaming even more, if that's even possible. The din of it is truly gut wrenching.

"I look inside the bag and I select the knife... I want to see my reflection. Truth. I don't wish to hide anymore." Will finds himself narrating in that darker, heavier voice that has been growing inside him for some time like a cancer. "I press it to his stomach. He cannot move any more than he can understand what is about to happen to him. I press the tip in, just a little, more and more... his flesh is like butter." A sick laugh barks out of him. "It's so easy. I want to see inside him. I want to know... what Hannibal knows."

The camera fuzzes up momentarily and then it's lifted up into the air by a new cameraman. When it focuses in, it's back on the tree stump and the victim on top of it. Video Will is gutting him with that slender knife in short, manic bursts.

"This is who you really are; your purest moment of self," Hannibal tells him from behind the camera. "Embrace him."

"Embrace him," Will repeats and remembers Hannibal saying the same thing to him right after plunging that scalpel into his gut. At the time, he'd hardly heard it, and certainly hadn't understood it.

Now he knows all too well what Hannibal meant.

He watches his video counterpart climb on top of the dying man to deliver a final plunge of the knife into his heart.

The cries invert to chokes and then silence and the body slowly goes limp. But Video Will doesn't wait even a moment. His hands are inside it where he gutted it, pulling out organs and intestines, showering blood everywhere as he throws the torn scraps of meat aside, laughing.

The camera is set down on the ground, angled up just enough to see the tree trunk; the blood rolling down the sides of it under the dim light. There is the sound of a scuffle of feet and Will lands on the ground beside it, like he's been thrown off the corpse he was dissecting with his hands. Hannibal falls on top of him and practically devours him, the two of them sinking into each other frantically, all fever and lust.

Will has no more tears left for what he has seen and learned this evening. The poison in the wound is coming out at last and something else is dripping in in its place. What that is, he isn't entirely sure.

All he knows is what it isn't; it's not guilt, or sadness, or any of the things he should be feeling, _would_ be feeling if he had never been pulled back into the field and into a wonderland of horrors by Jack Crawford, if his mind hadn't been eaten half away by encephalitis, if he'd never met Dr Hannibal Lecter.

The battery icon in the corner of the video flashes urgently and then it all goes black again.

Will doesn't need to see the rest. He remembers the way Hannibal had kissed him into a bloody stupor before setting him to one side to tidy the scene. He recalls Hannibal dressing him up in his spare plastic suit, presumably to prevent any blood from being tracked into his car, and then wrapping him in a blanket in the back seat.

Most of all, he remembers Hannibal driving him home to Wolf Trap and the two of them making love under the hot spray of his shower, while the dogs scratched for attention at the bathroom door.

It seems absurd that he could have forgotten all of that.

His eyes settle on the next video... the last video.

There can't possibly be anything left to learn, he thinks, finger hovering over the play button.


	7. 10-01-12

"My dear Will," Hannibal begins, "if you have watched all of these captured moments, and come to this final entry, I hope very much that your memories are beginning to return to you."

Will watches the video, curled in on himself in the chair and biting his hand. By now, he just feels... gone.

His former psychiatrist is in his chair at work. The lighting is dim, the video static and fixed on him, his expression highly controlled. The camera is directly in front of him, poised for a soliloquy. "I have not presented you with everything that was recorded, only the moments which I felt you needed to recall. Will, I...." There is a flicker of emotion as Hannibal pauses to push something down. "I had no designs on you initially. You reached for me, in your darkest and most confused hours. You came to me, again and again."

Will knows that Hannibal isn't lying. His memories are like pin pricks against his skin, ungraspable, but igniting flashes of recognisable emotions that do still linger.

"The beliefs and morals you held close have inevitably not survived the slow decline of your mind. Those dark places Jack Crawford has sent you into are an infection that clings beneath your skin." A dim smile reaches his lips. "You are an abstract painting in my own likeness. This path you have taken and the illness that gripped you in a fever has led you, inevitably, towards me."

There is a dim trace of recoil in Will's chest, with the thought that Hannibal had known Will was actually ill and had not intervened, perhaps seeing it as a chance to push him to spiral to the dark conclusion he had witnessed on the last video. But his reaction feels so distant he no longer knows how to react.

"I would have you view these recordings in the spirit in which they were intended. See yourself as you have become. Shed that false perspective you have clung to throughout this time." Hannibal shuffles in his chair and looks aside, momentarily. "It seems inevitable that what you experience in your sleeping state will bleed through to your lucid thoughts, sooner or later. When that happens," he looks back to the camera, his eyes dark like whirlpools into hell, "you will betray me. And I will betray you in return. It cannot be helped."

The scar on Will's belly aches with the memory of that moment. He'd betrayed Hannibal to Jack, and Hannibal had torn him open like a sacrificial lamb. He was starting to see it all like a bloody jigsaw puzzle coming together, every new piece of information creating a sense of whole. The gutting was a reference to his first kill in the mindset of the Ripper, the man on the tree stump, its purpose an attempt to open his mind to what he has done, his life maintained, on a knife edge, with surgical precision and to this end.

"Will, you are special to me. You must know that my feelings are entirely sincere. You must also know... that I will never let you go."

"I know," Will whispers, involuntarily, and his eyes slide closed into emptiness. He is more at home in the dark now; it's the only way he can breathe.

"All things pass into the night," Hannibal tells him, his voice louder, reverberating through caverns inside his head. "There is nothing more to fear."

"I know."

When Hannibal's hand touches his shoulder, Will doesn't even flinch. He knew, somehow, that the video had already stopped.

That he was not alone in his house all this time.

That he'd never be alone again, no matter how much he might want to be.

Slowly, he opens his eyes and turns to look into the man's face.

"Hello Will," Hannibal says, and kisses his forehead.

In the absence of anything else he can think of to say, Will responds, "Hello."

Hannibal closes the lid of the laptop and pulls Will to his feet. He enfolds him in his arms, easily.

"You were here the whole time." It's a statement, rather than a question. He knows the answer.

"This house has been sufficiently isolated for my needs, although the contents of your larder have rendered meals... challenging." He sighs. "I have been waiting for you."

Hannibal's hand roams down his chest and comes to rest over his belly, where his scar is burning. It makes Will tense up and then, suddenly, a wave of nausea and anger claims him.

"No," he growls and pushes Hannibal away. "How dare you. How _dare_ you! You... you've ruined my life!"

The slight frown from Hannibal only serves to incense him even more; Will breaking against the tide of his emotions at last.

"I'm... a murderer," he gasps, the realisation raw in his voice. "You made me into..."

"No Will, I did not. You saw that for yourself."

"You knew I was sick! You... let me... let me do all those things. You could have stopped it!"

"Yes, but then you would not be who you are now." Hannibal smiles pleasantly, apparently having a different conversation to the one Will is having. "You are breathtaking."

Will breaks and takes a swing for Hannibal, lunging towards him, his rage bursting. All of a sudden, they are fighting. Hannibal deflects his fist and grabs his wrist, and Will twists and kicks his knee in retaliation. Instead of releasing him, however, Will is pulled forward as Hannibal steps back involuntarily and hits the kitchen sideboard.

There is a block of knives nearby on the surface but Hannibal is too quick for Will to actually reach for one. He pushes him back, out of their reach, but Will clings onto his shirt to remain put.

"You stabbed me!" he yells and headbutts him.

That releases Hannibal's grip on his wrist and Will stumbles backwards, breathing heavily and glaring.

Hannibal brings his hand to his face but doesn't quite catch the first drip of blood from his nose.

Will freezes, staring. His heart begins to pound, a sudden spark of excitement tangling into the anger. The flash of red, rolling down Hannibal's face, over his fingers, clouds everything in fog.

He leaps at Hannibal again, all flailing arms, first pushing his hand away from his nose and then wrapping his arms clumsily around his shoulders. Will kisses him, desperately, tasting the blood and the familiar tingle of excitement. Hannibal growls and draws him in closer, responding with enthusiasm.

"There you are," he says into Will's mouth, betraying a note of triumph. His hands curve under the swell of Will's buttocks and he lifts him up.

Will crosses his legs around Hannibal's waist and continues to devour his lips, blood smearing everywhere. He's carried across the kitchen and he hears a smashing sound as the laptop hits the floor. Hannibal is pressing him onto the kitchen table, climbing over him like a predator.

"What now?" Will gasps, as Hannibal kisses into his neck. "You um, you're a killer on the run. You can't hide away here forever."

"Nor can you, much as you would wish to."

They slowly begin to still, Will frowning with concern and Hannibal drinking his lover in, tangling his fingers into his curls in a possessive display of affection.

"So what now?"

Hannibal smiles. "I have two passports prepared, two open flights booked under our new names and a house in Florence. All prepared long in advance. We need only to get past airport security." He pauses, seeing the note of distress in Will's expression. "You have nothing left here, Will. Can you ever go back to profiling killers, knowing how it has already changed you so much?"

The logic in his words is terrible and Will wants to crawl inside himself, into the dark, to seek quiet refuge.

Seeing this, Hannibal kisses him gently, trying to soothe him. "The whole world awaits us. It will be wonderful."

Will looks aside, over to the smashed remnants of his laptop, all scattered on the floor like a murder victim. "I suppose if I don't go with you, some of those videos will end up with the FBI. They'll know... everything..."

There is insanity in Hannibal's eyes, lying just beneath the shine of calm impassiveness, only becoming visible at certain times. "I will not let you go," he confirms, and Will can see through them into the eyes of the monster that lives underneath.

He is reflected there now, he realises. There is no way to deny that the Ripper lives within him, just as the Shrike, the Angel Maker, the String Killer and all the rest all do; even closer to the surface than any of them. He feels insane too.

The lips that seal their agreement are still covered in blood. It seems like an oddly fitting start to the life that awaits them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for checking this story out! 
> 
> Just as an FYI, this story actually didn't start out as a Dark!Will story at all. It was originally supposed to be about Hannibal taking advantage of his sleepwalking state, and being a total bastard, with Will finding out via videos and being all angsty. But around Chapter3 the idea for a switch came and it just became more interesting to tweak the earlier bits and then run with the new version. I think it came out better than it otherwise would have... though welcome opinions! :D
> 
> PS, The eagle-eyed might spot a Silence of the Lambs soundtrack reference in here. Couldn't resist.


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